


An Apposite Denouement

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Team Sassy Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy's been flirting with Brian since the day they met. Brian learns quickly to keep up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Apposite Denouement

 

 

 

_apposite -  (adj) strikingly appropriate and relevant_

 

_denouement - (n) the outcome of a sequence of events; the end result_

 

Brian Zeller walks into his first day of work at the BSU division with shaking knees and numb fingers. If he thought being more nervous than when Jack Crawford had interviewed him for the position was impossible, well. He was being proven wrong. Over the course of the morning, he'd spilled his coffee and had to remake it twice, almost dropped his toothbrush into the toilet, and spent twenty minutes picking out the perfect tie, one that didn't scream "I'M NEW AND DESPERATE TO BE LIKED!" but also that said "I was hired for a reason and I'm going to impress you." He ran three lights and barely stopped himself on the fourth when he saw a cop car across the meridian. Getting pulled over on his first day would be a  _terrible_  way to start.

 

Honestly, who could blame him for being nervous? This was the fucking FBI Behavioral Sciences Unit, the cream of the crop of the justice department. Brian had been plucked out of the relative obscurity of a Philadelphia coroner's office and dropped into the middle of the national government. This was the big leagues: national cases, national jurisdiction. His big stroke of luck was sudden and swift; his extra bit of effort in an autopsy had lead to the overturning of a death sentence and the revelation of the real murderer. Solving a case like that didn't go unnoticed, and a week later, he was sitting down with Jack Crawford himself, head of the BSU, answering his questions and trying not to look visibly intimidated by one of his few professional idols. Everybody in his career path knew who Jack Crawford was, his temper and drive were notorious, and Brian tried not to act like a teenage girl with a secret hero-worship closet shrine. Apparently it worked, since Jack shook his hand and told him to report for training the following Monday.

 

He'd broken his lease, shoved everything he owned into a U-Haul, and found the cheapest apartment near Quantico that he could. Six weeks of FBI training later, here he is, stepping into his dream job. Praying that he won''t keel over and vomit like an excited puppy. The wall on this floor are mostly made of glass, and he can see clear across the building. The white tiled floor and bright white lights make everything feel anti-septic. The air smells of nothing, not like the vague stench of rotted garbage wafting in through the ventilation system that he remembers from his old morgue. Actually, as he breathes in deeply, he can sense the underlying scent of bleach and cleaning products, and faint tones of hydrochloride under even those. His mother always did say his sense of smell was too powerful.  _She just didn't like that when I got home from school I could always smell pot._

 

He realizes that he's been standing in the same spot for a good twenty seconds, and one or two people are starting to stare. He shakes off their eyes, moving forward and remembering where Jack told him to go for his first day. The glass doors slide open to reveal what he could already see before they opened: a pristine-looking examination room. Two other people are puttering about inside it. The first person is an Asian woman, tall and sharp-faced, with long black locks . She looks to be around his age, maybe older, maybe younger, but not by many years. She's reading off a clip-board, eyes not wavering from her reading even at the sound of the doors. Either she's oblivious, or she doesn't yet think him important enough to warrant a break in her concentration.

 

The second person is visibly older than both of them, a shorter white man with thinning gray hair and a thin, inquisitive face. He's bent over a corpse, or what looks like a corpse, since there's a sheet over the body. The man has part of the sheet pushed back, and is fiddling around with tweezers and an evidence bag. He's concentrating like his partner, but his movement visibly shifts when Brian walks in, and when he's done pulling something out of the corpse, he straightens up and gives Brian a cheery smile.

 

"Hello there," the man says, voice hitting unexpected high tones. He sounds almost musical in his tone. "You must be the new meat Jack's sent us. I'm Jimmy Price, that's Beverly Katz. Bev, mind joining us on plant Earth for a minute?"

 

"Sorry," the woman - Beverly - says, looking up and meeting his eyes. The initial standoffish tone of her body language melts into neutral curiosity. "We've been working on this for the last thirty hours and I'm taking my frustration out on this clipboard by glaring at it. You're Zeller, right?"

 

"You can call me Brian," he says, holding out a hand; she shakes it firmly. "Agent Crawford said I'd be joining a team, but he didn't say much more than that."

 

"Oh, that's just how Jack is," Jimmy says. The edges of his eyelids crinkle upwards.  _Smiles with his eyes_ , Brian thinks. "He's all about throwing new recruits into the pool of dead bodies head first to see if they can figure out how to swim."

 

"I handled myself pretty well," Beverly says, smirking at him.

 

"You've only been here six months, don't get cocky," Jimmy retorts. He's still smiling though, obviously only scolding half-heartedly.

 

"Um, so where do I put my stuff?" Brian asks. Jimmy looks him up and down for some reason, and then puts his tweezers down, zipping the evidence bag up and chucking it over onto a table.

 

"Come on, let's show him his accommodations, Bev."

 

They lead him down a short corridor into a small room with three desks - two of them are covered with papers, laptops, folders, x-rays, photographs, and various personal odds and ends. One of them is completely clear except for a few files and a nameplate that reads B. ZELLER. Two of the desks face the center of the room from the left and right sides prospectively (his is on the right) while one sits in the middle of the back wall, facing the door.

 

"We're a bit short on space up here," Jimmy says, motioning around. "They told Bev when she first got here that she'd have her own office in a few days, and you can see how that turned out. You may be waiting a bit."

 

"We've managed okay with two people," Beverly says, shrugging. "And at least there will always be someone to talk to."

 

"It's fine," Brian says, putting his briefcase down on the clear desk. "I didn't even have my own office back in Philly, I was always sharing with interns or kids straight out of medical school."

 

"Jack said you were recruited for the office," Beverly states. "You didn't go through the regular training program?"

 

"I've been taking an accelerated training course for the last six weeks," Brian said, nodding. "Physical fitness, weapon training, BSU protocols. All the good stuff. I did mostly morgue work back home, but I've had field work training."

 

"So a desk jockey," Jimmy says, smiling to himself and plopping into his desk chair. "Goody, taking you out into the field will be fun. I always enjoy hearing the new ones whine about mud in their heels and sticks up their asses." He winks at Brian. There's no spite in his tone.

 

"You've got a carry permit?" Beverly asks him.

 

"Yeah, of course. I don't think I'll ever need it, but-" He stops talking as Jimmy and Beverly give each other a look. "I mean, we look at crime scenes post-crime, we're not the cops."

 

"We've had some... interesting cases," Beverly says, shrugging her shoulders.

 

"There was the one with the furry enthusiast convention," Jimmy offers. "I chased a man in a gorilla costume across an indoor bridge."

 

"The one where the victim was killed at a Civil War Re-enactment," Beverly chimed in. "And then the murderer brought out some modern AK-47 type weaponry."

 

"Oooh, do you remember the woman who tried to hide in a Ren Fair?"

 

"That was pretty fun."

 

"The point is," Beverly says, "Jack likes efficiency, and that means he'll use whatever part of your training he thinks is most useful at the moment."

 

"So make sure you practice shooting," Jimmy says a little too brightly. "I'm too old to go running after criminals, you two will have to pick up the slack."

 

"Pssh," Beverly says. "You're not that infirm, you liar."

 

"Okay then," Brian says. He probably looks like a deer trapped in headlights right now. "I'll keep that all in mind."

 

"Oh don't worry yourself too much," Jimmy says. "You'll probably love getting out into the field after being trapped in the morgue for three days straight. When Jack wants a case solved, you don't sleep. You live on coffee and vending machine snack food."

 

"But don't let him scare you," Beverly says, leaning up against her desk and giving him a reassuring smile. "It's a lot of fun, and you'll feel really fulfilled working here."

 

"Now then," Jimmy says, hopping up from his chair and grasping Brian by the arm. "New guy buys lunch."

 

"What? But it's not even-"

 

"Don't care," Beverly says, taking his other arm and tugging him out of the room. "We've been trapped in here for far too long, let's escape before Jack finds us."

 

"But I just got here," Brian says, realizing how lame he sounds. "Shouldn't I not skip off my first day?"

 

"Nah. Jack won't come looking for you for a while," Jimmy says. "He's three states away, working with a team in Minnesota. He won't be back until tonight. We'll have you elbow-deep in Mr. Dalloway's liver by the time he comes looking." He squeezes Brian's arm gently, a friendly gesture, and Brian feels himself relax.

 

"Okay," he says, "but you guys have to show me the best places to eat. I need an adequate cheese steak as soon as possible, I haven't found any here yet."

 

They both laugh and drag him down the hall, chatting merrily about various lunch options. Brian's a little overwhelmed, but at least they aren't ignoring him like his coworkers did when he started back home. This is a good start, he can feel it.

 

 

~

 

 

He's been working there for a month when he asks the question.

 

"Uh, Jimmy? What's with the skull?"

 

"Hmm?" Jimmy asks. He's scribbling something on one of the pieces of paper that covers his desk. They're all three currently in their office, each taking their own notes on the same case. They'll compare in a few minutes. Unlike Beverly, Jimmy's easily distractable. "Which skull?"

 

"That skull," Brian says, pointing to the one sitting precariously on top of the highest stack of papers on Jimmy's desk. It's a normal looking skull, slightly faded yellow and missing a few teeth, but otherwise distinguishable as a real human skull and not one of those funny models you might pick up at the Museum of Natural History. Brian likes skulls. He may have spent too much time at the Mutter Museum as a child.

 

"That's Herman," Beverly calls out from behind her stacks of papers. "Jimmy's ex-husband."

 

Brian, who was in the middle of taking a sip, chokes on his coffee. The other two both look up at him as he coughs and gasps. Eventually, he manages to get out: "His what?"

 

"She's kidding, dear," Jimmy says. "It's a family heirloom, Bev just likes to remind me that I'm an old unmarried crone."

 

"Well you kind of are," Beverly mutters, smirking and continuing to take notes.

 

"You have a skull as an heirloom," Brian repeats, still in disbelief.

 

"Does Jimmy having a skull really strike you as odd?" Beverly asks.

 

"...Honestly, that's probably one of the least weird things I've heard while working here."

 

"Now if I had the body part of an ex-husband, the skull is certainly not the first part I'd opt to keep," Jimmy says, grinning wickedly.

 

"Ew," Beverly says, flipping Jimmy off. "TMI, you pervert."

 

It takes Brian a moment, but he gets it. And then he  _gets it_. "Don't tell me I'm going to find a mummified dick in your desk drawers," he jokes, trying to confirm what's being implied.

 

"Nah, I prefer my dicks warm and  _firmly_  attached to their original owners," Jimmy says, winking at him. Brian averts his gaze, hiding a blush behind a quickly opened file.  _Is he flirting with me?_   _No, of course not._  It's just office banter. He's only a month on the job, he hasn't quite gotten the hang of Jimmy's bizarre humor yet.

 

But Jimmy definitely just implied he's a little less than straight. Brian tucks this piece of information away in the back of his mind. It's not that he finds the information shocking or horrifying or anything like that. Hell, Brian's a little less that straight himself. And unlike what straight people think, two guys finding out that they're both gay (or bisexual) doesn't automatically lead to them crashing together in- in a big gay pens pile. Or whatever straight guys would think. Brian hasn't even mentioned his own wibbly-wobbly sexuality to Beverly or Jimmy. So unless Jimmy has fantastic psychic abilities, they're not going to be having conversational topics about this.

 

Still though. Brian finds that older guys tend to not be as open about their sexuality so soon into a working relationship. The fact that Jimmy mentioned it so soon is... interesting, to say the least.

 

"Hello, are you alive over there?" Beverly is staring at him pointedly. "Can we share our insights now?" She's waving the file folder in the air.

 

"Come on, Shaggy," Jimmy says, levering himself out of the chair. "Let's listen to Velma before she confiscates all of our Scooby Snacks."

 

The skull continues to sit on Jimmy's desk, gaining various hats and holiday decorations depending on the time of year. Halloween sees it wearing an eye patch, and Thanksgiving gives it a feathery tail. One day, Beverly falls asleep at her desk, and Jimmy and Brian set the skull right in front of her face. She wakes up with a shriek and curses at them while they pretend to run out of the room in fear.

 

Jack comes into the office once while Brian is playacting a little bit of Hamlet for them, Herman playing their Yorick. They all freeze and look at their boss when he comes in. He just shakes his head, sighs, and walks out of the room. Brian hears him muttering "I hired these people," on his way out.

 

One day, Brian clips his side against Jimmy's desk as he's moving past it, and hears a crash. He looks down to find Herman on the floor, his jaw unhinged from the socket.

 

"Oh no," Jimmy says, picking the skull up delicately. "Poor little guy."

 

"I'm sorry!" Brian yelps. "Is he okay?"

 

"Yeah, the wire that holds the jaw on just snapped. I've had to replace it several times already, I'm not a taxidermist, so I just wing it. We'll have to be more careful with him from now on." Jimmy gently places him on the desk, frowning as the broken wire allows the top of the skull to fall open. Herman looks like he's screaming up to the sky.

 

Brian feels pretty shitty about this, so he swipes the skull off of Jimmy's desk while Jimmy's off for a few days, and when he comes back, Herman is sitting in the middle of the desk again, a new metal hinge keeping the bones together. "Apparently there are several taxidermists in the DC area," Brian says as Jimmy tests the jaw. "The guy I took this to used a stronger type of wire. It shouldn't break again."

 

"You didn't have to do that," Jimmy says, looking at him with such earnest happiness. "Whatever it cost you, I'll pay you back."

 

Brian shakes his head, embarrassed. "It's no big deal, really. Just maybe clean off your desk so he has somewhere to sit that's not about to fall over at any second."

 

When Brian comes in the next morning, Jimmy's desk has been completely organized, and Herman is stably sitting on the corner.

 

"Somebody finally got him to clean off his desk," Beverly says when she walks in. "It's a miracle."

 

A pleased warmth worms its way through Brian's chest. He has no idea why Beverly's words make him this happy.

 

 

~

 

 

Brian is wet and muddy and he is scowling so fiercely that his expression may crack and fall right off of his face. He's sandwiched between Bev and Jimmy as they lean against the side of a police car, pistols in hand and heads ducked as the sound of gunfire ricochets through the surrounding trees.

 

"Who comes back to their own fucking crime scene in the middle of the day!" Brian growls, ducking at the sound of a shot and wincing as his ankle wiggles, pain arcing through the ligament. "How do you see ten police cars around the victim you just killed and think, hmm, yeah, I can totally sneak around that!"

 

"You assume that all criminals are intelligent," Jimmy says, glancing around the bumper, looking more non-chalant than seems possible. "They're just as capable of making stupid mistakes as the average non-murderer."

 

"Would you stop whining?" Beverly says, peeking up above the car and firing off a round before ducking back down. "Dumb criminals are easier to catch. Say thank you to Jimmy for saving your ass, by the way."

 

"Oh, yeah. Thanks," Brian says, giving Jimmy an appreciative nod. "I definitely didn't need a bullet hole in my head." It had been a lucky thing that the fall leaves were crunchy and the perp was terrible at being inconspicuous. Jimmy saw him standing behind Brian and had yanked Brian away before the perp had gotten a shot off.

  
"Of course, I couldn't stand to see you  _penetrated_  in such a vulgar manner," Jimmy says, giving him a shit-eating grin. Even in a fire-fight, he's egging Brian on.

 

Brian's started getting the hang of this- this whatever this is, though. "I'm glad I've got you watching my ass to make sure it doesn't get  _penetrated_  improperly," he replies. Jimmy looks delighted by his retort.

 

"You two can get a room after the guns stop going off, okay?" Beverly chimes in sarcastically. "Actually, I think the firing's stopped." She looks over the hood again, and motions to them to get up. "Jack's waving us over."

 

They get to their feet. Brian's wobbly on his ankle, and Bev shoves her arm under his shoulder, taking half his weight with her surprisingly muscular shoulder. They make there way over towards Jack, who is directing several agents towards the woods. He's shouting.

 

"How do I have fifteen agents here and not one of them manages to take this idiot down! Somebody find this guy!" He seems to be berating the world in general, as there's no one standing in front of him. When they approach, he nods towards them. "You three had better be carrying empty clips right now. You had clear shots, I should be digging bullets out of every tree in this clearing." He sweeps his arm around as if to impress the point on them.

 

"We were kind of concentrating on getting out of point-blank range," Jimmy quips, motioning towards Brian's ankle. "And Zeller got a boo-boo, so he wasn't much help."

 

"Hey, I was covering, y'know, the other side of the clearing," Brian says. "My bullets will be pointing that way." He points in the opposite direction.

 

Jack sighs. "Is it broken, Agent Zeller?" he asks, pointing at Brian's ankle. His words saying 'concerned' and his expression saying 'I couldn't give less of a shit.'

 

"Definitely sprained, probably not broken," he says. "I could probably hop around but I don't really want to trip over a root and get a face full of victim. Probably bad to contaminate the crime scene."

 

"Go sit in the van until we're through," Jack orders. "Agent Katz and Price will cover the rest of the scene."

 

Brian gives them both an apologetic look and hops his way into the back of the van, cursing as he knocks his ankle against the ground. He sulks for a good half hour, waiting for his colleagues and stretching out his leg on the back seat. He's dozing when he hears the back doors open, and glances up to see Jimmy loading their bags into the trunk.

 

"Geez, Brian, napping too?" Beverly says, swinging herself into the driver's seat. "What a cushy life you lead."

 

"Sorry," he says, "I'll make it up to you, the paperwork for this one is all mine."

 

"Oooh, you should get injured more often then," Jimmy says, hopping into the passenger's seat. "I hate paperwork."

 

Beverly glances back at him through the rear-view mirror. "I'm going to get started on the autopsy when we get back, and Jimmy's gonna drive you to the hospital."

 

Brian twitches, surprised. "You don't have to- I can drive myself."

 

"Your right ankle is sprained," Jimmy says, shaking his head. "I can imagine how far you'd get before you cause an accident and bang yourself up even more."

 

"Then I'll call a cab," Brian says insistently. Jimmy shakes his head again.

 

"I'll drop you and pick you up when you're done. It's really no trouble, it's a fifteen minute drive and I'd do it for any of my friends. Now zip it."

 

"Thanks." He decides not to push the issue. It's only later, when he's sitting in the passenger seat of Jimmy's old Buic, that he realizes what Jimmy called him.

 

Not coworker.  _Friend_.

 

Honestly, it's not even that big of a deal, it's just, well... back home, it took him a year to even consider any of his coworkers an  _acquaintance_. Brian isn't a loner, but he's never been able to make connections with people very easily. The veterans at his old job weren't interested in making friends, and everyone else was a temp or an intern. He has friends from college, but he only touches base with them a few times a year, and none of them understand the jokes he makes about finding severed hands in urinals, or victims who turn out to have just auto-erotically asphyxiated themselves, or any of the other weird black humor you end up latching onto working at this job.

 

He's never driven Jimmy anywhere as a favor, or ever been to his house, or even invited him for a simple drink after work, and yet they're friends?

 

He should remedy that. Not the friends part- the drink part.

 

"Hey, um, are you doing anything after work?" Brian asks, breaking the silence. Jimmy frowns, and Brian can't understand what he's said wrong, but then-

 

"Actually... I kind of have a date," Jimmy says, shrugging his shoulders. "You picked the only day in the past month where I have to say no."

 

"Oh, well that's fine, no big deal, I was just wondering. Good for you, on the whole date part, I mean." Brian looks out the window and tries to sound not so disappointed. He's got a terrible poker face.

 

"But I'm free tomorrow." Brian looks back over. Jimmy hasn't turned his gaze from the road, but the corner of his mouth is quirking upwards. "If you wanted to get a drink or something."

 

"Yeah, absolutely, I'll ask Bev too and we can make it a team night out."

 

"I can't wait to see how terribly you hold your alcohol," Jimmy says. "If I have to carry you out of the bar, you will never live it down."

 

"Hey, I'm great with my booze. You're looking at the beer bong champ of my college soccer team."

 

"College was a long time ago, Mr. Confidence."

 

"Longer for you," Brian retorts. "How do I know your liver can even keep up with us young kids?"

 

Jimmy's mouth breaks out into a knowing smile, and he glances over at Brian. "Because I have experience, and experience trumps your youthful energy any day."

 

"Yeah, we'll see. I bet I'll be carrying you out of the bar."

 

 

~

 

 

It turns out that Jimmy wasn't lying. He drinks Brian under the table the next night. And the next time they go out. And the time after that. Frankly, Brian's a little disturbed by how high of a tolerance Jimmy has, and wonders what Jimmy does when he goes home most nights. But that's not really a hypothesis he can or wants to confirm.

 

Speaking of drinks (of the non-alcoholic variety), the coffee in the break room is terrible. Like, the worst work coffee Brian's ever come across. Apparently, nobody bothered to learn how to brew a proper cup while they were solving murders and protecting the public. ...Okay, maybe one of those things is more important than the other, but  _still._  How can  _no one_  in the BSU make good coffee?

 

Brian usually brings in a giant cannister of coffee that he brews at home. People gave him funny looks the first few weeks. Beverly called him a 'special snowflake.' Whatever that means. But sometimes they pull overnighters, or Brian's too tired to clean out his grinder and cannister and everything else he uses to brew (at least French Presses are easy to clean; a Chemex would be impossible for him to work in the morning). Sometimes he wishes he had a little pick-me-up around two thirty, well past when he finishes the dregs of what's in the cannister.

 

Finally, he digs his older French Press, his spare electric kettle, and his first cheap burr grinder out of storage and tosses them into a box. The box comes with him to work in the morning, and Brian finds a spare side table in one of the never-used conference rooms that no one will miss. He sets it up in the corner of their office. He's running an extension cord to the grinder when Beverly walks in, carrying her metal Starbucks mug ( _expensive overpriced swill_ , Brian thinks every time he sees it) and evaluating the sight in front of her. "Did we get bought out by a Park Slope barista overnight?" she asks. "I didn't notice any fixie bikes or ironic mustaches on my way in."

 

Brian rolls his eyes. "You don't need to be a hipster to enjoy good coffee." She sticks her tongue out at him, so childishly, that he feels a spark of spite, and snatches the cup out of her hand when she gets closer. She yelps in displeasure, but he shakes his head. "I'm going to do you a favor and teach you what real coffee tastes like," he says. "Grab the kettle and fill it to the four cup line. Use the sink, not the water cooler; distilled water makes weak coffee."

 

His old burr grinder is louder than he likes, and doesn't have the most even grind, but it will make do. He measures out four spoonfuls of whole beans, and the grinder turns off just as Beverly comes back with the kettle. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asks, frowning like she's still doubting him.

 

"Plug it in and let it boil," Brian says, dumping the grinds into the French Press. Jimmy walks in while they're waiting.

 

"I feel like I missed something," Jimmy says, staring at the set up. "And my life is worse off for missing it."

 

"Brian's teaching me how to make 'good coffee'," Beverly says, using her fingers to make air quotes. "Because he is a narcissistic prick who wastes valuable autopsy time on shit like this."

 

"I'm sure all of the corpses will excuse your lateness," Jimmy says, smirking and pulling on his lab coat. "They're not too cranky about punctuality." The water is boiling by now. Brian unplugs the kettle and pours the water on top of the grinds, quickly pushing the stopper down onto the top.

 

"And now we wait," Brian says, starting the stopwatch on his phone. Beverly rolls her eyes and leans back against her desk. Brian uses the time to run to the bathroom and dump the remains of Beverly's coffee out of the mug. When he comes back, the timer has just reached the five minute mark. He pushes the plunger down, watching the coffee grinds collect at the bottom of the glass. Then he pours the filtered coffee back into Beverly's mug and hands it to her. "Cream and sugar are in the break room. I suggest using about half what you normally would to start, you won't need to cover up any bitterness."

 

Beverly gives him an unsure look, but shrugs and takes the mug. "You guys had better be in the morgue when I get there," she shouts behind her.

 

Jimmy gives him a look. "You're going to ruin her carefree ignorance, you know that. She'll never be able to go back after this."

 

Brian laughs and claps him on the shoulder. "That was my devilish plan all along," he says. "I can ruin you too, if you'd like."

 

"That sounds fun," Jimmy says, winking and grinning saucily. "I'm looking forward to being ruined by you." He laughs in delight when Brian curses and looks away, unable to figure out a retort. "Come on, let's get to the morgue."

 

Brian's looking over a file in the morgue when he's pulled into a surprise hug. Beverly is looking at him like he's her messiah. She holds up the mug. "I hate you so much right now. This is what I've been missing in my life. Now let us never speak of this." She pulls away, instantly professional again, and takes the file from his hand. "You're looking for a positive result on TB," she says, moving over to look at the body.

 

Brian just sips from his own mug and shakes his head, smirking.

 

 

~

 

 

"Come on you pansies, keep up with me!"

 

"Be-Beverly," Brian pants, "you need to  _sl-slow down_."

 

"Y-yeah," Jimmy agrees, groaning. "We're not as experienced as you are at this.  _Oh god my side_."

 

"Oh jeez," Beverly says, slowing her bike and stopping at the top of the hill. "We've barely gone five miles! I used to bike this far to work every day."

 

Brian and Jimmy pant their way up to the top of the hill, both pouring sweat and gasping for air. Brian drops a leg down to the ground and almost falls over the handlebars. They've crested the trees behind them, and the path before them stretches through an open clearing before zipping back into the park woods.

 

"Yes," Jimmy gasps. " _You_  used to do this. Brian and I rented these bikes. Bri, when was the last time you were on a bike?"

 

"Puberty," Brian replies, catching his breath. "I forgot how uncomfortable the seats are."

 

Beverly scowls and shakes her head. "You guys, if Jack beats me to the finish line, I swear, I will never speak to either of you again."

 

"This isn't a race, Bev," Jimmy says. "It's an FBI charity event."

 

"Doesn't matter," Beverly says flatly. "I have money and my dignity on the line."

 

"Then just leave us," Brian says, grabbing his water bottle off the strap on the bike and chugging down half of it in one go. Two riders pass them, and Jimmy waves. "We'll meet you at the finish line. We're just holding you back."

 

"But-"

 

"The lad is right," Jimmy says, adjusting his helmet. "You can move much faster without us. This isn't a horror movie, Bev. We're not going to get lost in the woods and get eaten by a bear. The path only goes one way."

 

Beverly looks between both of them and then sighs. "Fine. But you'd better be not more than ten minutes behind me. You've only got another five miles to go." She rolls her eyes when they groan. "We're starting a fitness club after this, you two are pathetic." Then she hops back on her bike seat and zips down the hill, disappearing into the trees.

 

"We probably should keep going," Jimmy points out. "We can do half her speed and still beat some people to the finish line."

 

"Look who's concerned about winning now," Brian says, smirking and pushing off the road.

 

"Oh I really don't care, but I don't want to hear it from Bev when we come in last.  _You guys_ ," Jimmy imitates, raising his voice slightly, " _I am ashamed to work with you. I think I need to transfer_."

 

Brian laughs and watches a few more riders pass them. They're going downhill right now, but from the map they were given before the start of the ride, he knows there's one more hill in his future, even bigger than the last, and if they can get over that hump, they've got smooth sailing until the finish line.

 

They hit flat road, going at a comfortable speed. "You've never been to the park, have you?" Jimmy asks as they ride. "DC area has some great trails. When I first moved here, I would wander the trails for hours."

 

"They don't have trees and deer in Canada?" Brian jokes.

 

"Mostly ice," Jimmy quips. "Ice and extremely polite icicles." They turn left and the trail starts to shift upwards. Brian downs the last of his water bottle. "This is actually the perfect time to go back home, Summer up there is like Spring in the states."

 

"I've never been to Canada," Brian says, starting to breathe quickly as the incline rises. "It's like America but skinnier and more progressive, right?"

 

Jimmy chuckles shortly, starting to show the effects of climbing the hill. "Remember, I muh-moved here in the late 90s," he says. "Nowhere was p-progressive enough for me." He motions with his hand, laughing to himself. "But these woods are big and t-two guys can get up to a lot of fun in here!"

 

"It sounds like you have experience!" Brian's smile is replaced with a wince as a pain forms in his side.  _Drank too much water too fast_ ,  _gotta push through_. "How many boys did you w-woo in these woods?"

 

"Dozens," Jimmy gasps. He's visibly pedaling harder, trying to speed up to get to the top faster. "It- It may not seem like it, but I was quite the catch back in the day."

 

"I'm- I'm sure," Brian pants, pushing harder to keep up with Jimmy. The pain in his side is sharpening.  _Why are we talking about this now?_  "S-so what I'm hearing is t-that you would be a great tour guide." He waves to a passing rider. The crest of the hill can't be more than five hundred feet away, but the pain is making it seem ages ahead.

 

"I'll s-show you whatever you want. I know some p-pretty private areas in- Brian?"

 

Brian doesn't respond, he's slowed to a crawl, gripping his side and cursing. "Fucking goddamned son of a fucking- I have to stop," he gasps, coming to a halt and standing shakily on the asphalt. His calves are burning, but the pain is like a knife in his side and makes him feel like he's going to throw up.

 

He hears Jimmy drop back, wheeling over next to Brian and grabbing the handle of his bike. "Get off and take a break, I'll hold them." Brian nods gratefully and pulls his leg over, stumbling and letting himself drop to the ground in an ungainly sit. The pain subsides fairly quickly, and he waves away two riders that ask if they need help. He snorts and shakes his head.

 

"I feel so stupid," he says. "And pathetic. Now I'm thinking about taking Beverly up on her offer for a fitness club."

 

"Oh god, please don't," Jimmy says. "Then I would have to join too, and I like being lazy on the weekends."

 

An arm waves in front of his vision, and Brian glances up. Jimmy is offering him a hand. Brian grips Jimmy's forearm and levers himself off the ground, but his balance is shaky and he falls forward against the bikes, brushing against Jimmy's chest, hands gripping over Jimmy's on the bike frame. Jimmy's eyebrows go up. "Sorry," Brian mutters, quickly stepping back. "I think I'm good, let's just take it slow to the top."

 

"Do you want to walk it?" Jimmy asks.

  
Brian shakes his head. "I'd feel stupid. We're almost there anyway." He mounts the bike again, and they climb the last few hundred feet, cresting the top. Below them is a straight path down, and the finish line banner waves half a mile in the distance.

 

"Okay,  _now_  I'll race you," Jimmy says, grinning at him and zipping past.

 

"You little-" Brian ducks down and pumps his legs, trying to make up the distance Jimmy has put between them. He almost catches up, but Jimmy crosses the finish line about a second before him. "That was so unfair," Brian says, laughing and unclipping his helmet. "You had a major head start."

 

"Gotta keep up, you whippersnapper," Jimmy says, glancing back and winking at him. "I only take boys on tours into the woods if they can keep up with me."

 

Beverly greets them before he has a chance to respond. "Well, you aren't  _dead_   _last,_ " she says, taking in their state of exhaustion. "But I'm putting you both on a training regimen ASAP."

 

"Noooo," they groan in unison. Brian's secretly pleased though. If he can keep seeing Jimmy in those bike shorts, well, who is he to complain?

 

 

~

 

 

Brian doesn't go to the Christmas office party the first year he works at the FBI, but Jimmy and Beverly demand that he goes the second year. They spend the weeks before nagging him incessantly.

 

"But I hate office parties," he grumbles from the reclined position of his desk chair, eyes covered with a thick medical book to block out the overhead lights. "Everybody hates office parties."

 

"You've never been to our Christmas party," Beverly says, swiping the book off of his face and dropping it into his lap. He yelps and curses her aim. "It is the best party of the year. I'm Jewish and it's my favorite event all year."

 

"Do you know why we never have any other office parties?" Jimmy asks him. Herman is perched in his usual spot, wearing a Santa hat, and Brian swears that Jimmy turned the skull so that it constantly stares at Brian on purpose.

 

"Because nobody ever has time for that shit around here?" Brian tries.

 

"Hmm, close, but the truth is that we've all collectively decided that we would rather pool all the money we get for office events into one giant end of the year extravaganza." Jimmy grabs a whiteboard off of his desk. "Do you know how big the budget for office extracurriculars is?"

 

"No idea." Brian watches Jimmy write down a number and then hold up the board. "Holy shit. How many people work in this department? Who authorized that?"

 

"No idea," Beverly says. "But whoever did is a genius and a legend."

 

"The point," Jimmy says, "is that every single red cent is spent on, in order of importance: Booze, karaoke rental, candy canes, booze, decorations, cookies, more booze, and the inevitable damages that will result when Dr. Winston tries to stage dive into the snack table."

 

"Everyone passes out overnight in their offices," Beverly says. "We all feel like shit, but we all come to work, so Jack doesn't yell at us more than usual."

 

"Do I have to bring anything?" Brian asks. "Like, Secret Santa shit?"

 

"Nah," Jimmy says. "Sometimes people will bring each other little gifts, but that's about it. Don't worry about it, just show up at seven next Friday and wear something different, you know, something you actually care not to get blood on."

 

Jimmy says 'little gifts,' but Brian hears 'items that perfectly encapsulate my friendships with Bev and Jimmy.' He spends the next week on Amazon, trying to think of something  _other_  than ironic cat statues for Beverly and detox subscriptions for Jimmy. His outfit for the party is a blue pullover covered in tiny reindeer, a tie with green and red light sabers, and beige slacks.

 

"You adorable nerd," Jimmy laughs when he sees the tie. "Please tell me you've got the same boxers on underneath." He's wearing a forest green button down and a black tie with twinkling colored lights running in stripes across the width.

 

"Stop being such a pervert." Beverly elbows him in the side, jumping off of her desk and clicking over in black heels to bend close and examine at the reindeer pattern. She's wearing an impossibly tight red dress, and Brian has to avert his gaze to avoid looking down her front. "Relax Brian," she says, amusement tinkling in her voice, "I know I look drop-dead gorgeous in this thing. I'm going hunting tonight." She winks at him and kisses his cheek, handing him a small box. "Merry whatever you celebrate."

 

"Thanks Bev," he says, handing her his own gift. They tear open the boxes; she gasps in delight to discover the French Press he'd gotten her, and he beams when he sees the C3-PO bobble head under the wrapping.

 

"Your R2-D2 was looking a little lonely on your desk," she says, motioning to the only tchotchke he's thought to decorate his space with.

 

Brian nods. "This is perfect, thank you, Bev."

 

"Aww, I have to go second to  _that_  reaction?" Jimmy says, handing him a box. "I demand a redo."

 

"I've heard that before," Brian teases, handing over his own gift.

 

"Look, poker is a terrible game for me whether I'm sober or drunk. I can't keep my tells off my face."

 

"You've learned nothing from that Lady Gaga CD I spied in your backseat."

 

"I resent that you'd think me such a gauche gay man," Jimmy says, tearing into the wrapping. "You could've at least said Cher or Madonna if you wanted to be stereotypical- oh?" He stares curiously at the book  he holds, the cover reads  _10,001 Random Facts For the Hungry Mind_.

 

"I know you like bits of trivia," Brian says, suddenly wondering if he guessed wrong. "I mean, you're always telling me random facts that seem to come out of nowhere, so-"

 

"I love it," Jimmy says, beaming at him in a way that makes his heart turn to mush and pool in the pit of his stomach. "I'm going to pick one out every day to slip into our conversations. Open yours."

 

Brian skitters his fingers over the wrapping paper and digs his fingernails into the side, tearing the paper in ribbons, until he can see what's beneath.

 

The box contains about a dozen comics sealed in bags and boards. "Are these - these are original run Watchmen comics," Brian states. He can feel the wheels in his brain turning, trying to process the gift. "All twelve original run comics. How- where did you even-?" He's honestly speechless.

 

"Oh my cousin runs a really big comic hobbyist shop out in Chicago," Jimmy says, nodding his head. "And you were ranting with somebody about this series at the bar a while back."

 

" _Zack Snyder could never do these justice_ ," Brian whispers to himself, looking down at the comics again. "Wait, that conversation was six months ago. Jimmy, these are worth way too much, I can't-"

 

"They cost me nothing and he owed me a favor," Jimmy says, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you like them, now tell me thank you and shut up about it. Merry Christmas."

 

"Thank you," Brian says, and he pulls Jimmy into a hug to prevent himself from doing the thing he actually wants to do, which is kiss him silly.

 

"I was never going to top that, was I?" Beverly is laughing at them. "I should've known. Oh well, let's go get drunk and watch our coworkers make fools of themselves."

 

The party is held in the large conference room on the first floor. The chairs have been cleared out and the tables shoved against the wall, piled with snacks and alcohol. There is a karaoke stage in the center of the makeshift dance floor, and somebody from IT is doing a mediocre rendition of Rudolph when they arrive. Brian cringes at the off key notes, but everybody else is apparently enjoying the show.

 

Jimmy hands him a cup from the punch bowl. "I'm guessing you haven't had Jungle Juice since college," he says. "Jack makes a mean brew."

 

Brian takes a drink and sputters. "Jack made this? Shit, I've got to get myself invited to his parties."

 

The next two hours are a whirlwind of booze,  badly sung karaoke, and wheely-chair races down the corridors of the building. Jack does a rendition of 'White Christmas,' a duet with his wife that leaves them all speechless. Beverly finds a piece of mistletoe and steals a kiss from every guy she cares to, including pecks on the cheek for both Jimmy and himself. "If only you weren't taken," she giggles as she kisses him, whispering drunkenly in his ear.

 

"But 'm not," he drawls. Confusion knits his brow as his vision spins.

 

"'o'course you are," she laughs, waving a hand up to Jimmy, whose up on the karaoke stage singing  _All I Want For Christmas Is You_. "Who d'you think he's singin' about?"

 

Brian meets Jimmy's gaze and feels the red hot blood rushing to his face. Beverly cackles into his ear.

  
"It's not like you two hide it well," she giggles. "I'm surprised y' haven't jumped into bed with each other yet. Y' havent, right?"

 

The music is pounding into his head now, and he feels his legs giving out as the world dizzies around him. Beverley's words flow into him like a wave of nausea. "No, we havn', I gotta-" He stumbles out of her grasp and flees down the hall.

 

He makes his way back to the office. It's quieter there, he can only just hear the thrum of the music coming from the floor below, and the crescendo of the song plays out as he slides down against the side of the desk. He breathes deeply, reaching up and tugging the box Jimmy gave him down into his lap, cursing as the comics spill out across the floor. The plastic covers shine under the overhead lights, arcing light back into his vision and making him squint.

 

He hears the click of heels coming down the hall. "I thought you knew." Beverly is standing in the doorway, watching him. Brian shrugs and gathers the comics, putting them back in the box.

 

"It's just some back and forth," he says. "A little teasin'. What makes you think he likes me that way?"

 

"The way he looks at you," she says. "An' talks about you, an'- an' reacts to anything you say. Geez, Bri, if a guy looked at me like that all th' time, I'd be on him so fast." She steps over his kicked-off shoes and slides down the desk next to him, cradling a bottle of tequila. "Why're you so shy about it? I've seen the expressions you've got when he flirts with you. You love it just as much." She tips the bottle back, downing a long gulp.

 

"Never thought he was serious." Brian shrugs and takes the bottle from her. He takes his own drink and swirls the rest around inside the bottle. The dull yellow color looks how he's going to feel in the morning. "I mean, don' get me wrong, it's not like I haven't  _thought_  about it. Jus' never felt the need t' act on it."

 

"Pshh. Wuss."

 

"Yeah, look who had t'get drunk to even ask Dr. Warren for a kiss."

 

"Oh my god, Bri.  _He is so hot-_  give me that bottle."

 

They finish the tequila, and Beverly drags him back to the party. More alcohol is consumed, and everything gets very hazy. He vaguely recalls standing on the drink table, challenging Jack to shots, but after that things end up a blur.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, the first sensation to hit him is that of a jackhammer boring into his skull. Or at least, that's what the pounding, throbbing pain feels like. He's lying flat on the ground, except his head is pillowed on something, and that something feels decidedly human.

 

Brian opens his eyes to a flat expanse of green shirt before him. Jimmy is leaning up against the desk behind them, arm slung out and tucking Brian up against the side of his chest. He's snoring softly, and the rhythm of his chest moving up and down is immeasurably soothing in light of Brian's pounding headache.

 

He should really be freaking out. He's woken up cuddling with one of his best friends, the one he happens to also have a really, really big crush on. There are implications to this, big thinky thoughts he should be having, but  _God his chest is so comfortable, I don't wanna move_.

 

There's also a warmth against his back, now that he notices it. He shifts to look over his shoulder and hears a familiar female groan.

 

"Stop moving, you're comfortable." Beverly is stretched out perpendicular to them, using Brian's side as a pillow. "I'm not ready to wake up yet."

 

"We should move before someone gets the genius idea to get their camera," Brian says. His leg is asleep, and as Beverly snuggles further into him it prickles pins and needles up his side. " _Ow_ , I'd love to move if that's alright with you."

 

Then there's a hand running through his hair, slipping through his curls and stroking the back of his neck. "Mmmm, why would you wanna do a silly thing like that, baby." Brian freezes at the words.  _Baby? He's never called me that, even for a joke._  He slowly glances back up. Jimmy's eyes are still shut, and his breathing is soft. Brian can't tell if he's awake or not. He finds out when Jimmy opens his eyes and looks around, obviously confused. "Huh, not what I was expecting." He looks down at the scene of them splayed out on the floor, and slowly pulls his fingers out of Brian's hair. "Sorry, I was dreaming."

 

"I guess it was a good one." He's not going to acknowledge their sleeping positions if Jimmy doesn't. Brian yawns and cracks his neck as the blood slowly floods back into his legs. The blinds are slowly letting in morning light, and he can hear the sounds of movement and murmurs of voices coming from down the hall.

 

There are donuts and coffee in the break room when they manage to hobble down there. Half a dozen people are milling around, downing caffeine and pretending to be capable, coherent adults. Brian just manages to fill up a Styrofoam cup when a thunderous noise envelops through the room, making him jump and spill hot coffee all over his hand.

 

"Are we ready to get to work people?" Jack roars. He's impeccably dressed, with no baggy or bloodshot eyes that would indicate any sort of hangover.  _Lucky son of a bitch_ , Brian thinks, grabbing a stack of napkins to wrap around the reddening spots of his hand.

 

"He does that every year," Jimmy says, sighing after he leaves. "I think he likes it better than the actual party."

 

"I have to get out of this fucking dress," Beverly says. "I'll see you boys in the morgue in ten. The blood samples should've finished processing by now."

 

"You brought a change of clothes, right, Zeller?" Jimmy asks him as they leave the break room. Brian nods, not awake enough to use words. "Good, back to the grindstone. Oh, also, cats' urine glows under black light."

 

Brian chokes on his coffee. "That was a random non-sequitur," he says, trying to process this new information.

 

"I told you," Jimmy says, "I'm going to get some use out of that book you got me. Figured I'd start immediately." He pats Brian on the shoulder, winks and heads off towards the restroom. Brian smiles; watches him go. He sips his coffee, then looks at the cup and frowns.  _This tastes like shit_. Apparently even hangovers can't make work coffee taste better.

 

_Oh well_ , he thinks, taking another sip.  _At least the day started out well_.

 

 

~

 

 

Kayla Franklin is forty-two years old, or at least she was at the time of her death, which occurred sometime in the last sixty-eight to seventy-two hours. The only reason she's on Brian's autopsy table is because she was found shoved behind a dumpster in an alley where Dmitri Arshan, a victim of the Chesapeake Ripper, was found as well. They believe that Mr. Arshan is a victim of the Ripper because he is missing the following organs: heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys. Ms. Franklin, however, is missing no organs, but the side of her head is caved in from where it was slammed against the dumpster. They do not know yet why she has her internal organs intact, but Brian is pretty sure he knows why, why the Ripper rejected her as a suitable candidate to take trophies from, and why she was in that alley when the Ripper was attempting to dispatch his victim.

 

It is one in the morning, and instead of sleeping in his nice, comfortable bed, Brian is sitting on the metal autopsy table, the table he will now have to sanitize again in the morning. He is waiting for the blood tests. He swings his legs back and forth, gripping the sides of the tables as he stares at the drawer where Ms. Franklin's body rests. When the tests come in, he won't have to look at them to tell what was wrong with Ms. Franklin for the Ripper to reject her. He recognizes the signs of cocaine withdrawal, even in a corpse. The Ripper must've seen them too, seen that her blood was tainted, and he never allows his trophies to be tainted, does he?

 

Brian is practicing an exercise in futility. He's done for the day, everyone else has gone home. The last bus comes around at two am, and since he took public transport in today, he'll either have to catch the last bus, or sleep in his office until morning. They've got a couch in their office now, an old worn black thing that used to sit in the front lobby, and it's pretty comfortable. Brian wouldn't mind sleeping there.

 

_What a waste_ , he thinks, glaring at the autopsy drawer.  _What a fucking waste_. A rage wells up inside of him, and he slams his hand against the table. The vibration of the metal echoes through the empty hallways.  _Fucking crackheads_.

 

She came in wearing a tattered black coat, and he could tell that it was once nice, once worth something. She couldn't have been out on the streets for more than six months. She had been an office worker before, a cog in a company machine, and her file said there was an ex-husband somewhere to contact. No kids.

 

He knows why he's letting this get to him. It shouldn't - he's seen plenty of alcoholics, potheads, and heroin users. Crack's just another way to fall into the void of nothingness. Hell, he's cut open young kids who OD'd on the stuff.

 

But she- she reminds him of her. Same build, same lifestyle. Same end, except for the whole Ripper part.

 

The lights come on in the room, and Brian squints through the change in brightness. His eyes adjust, and Jimmy is standing with his satchel in the doorway, yawning and giving him a look that says  _you shouldn't be here, why are you?_  "It's almost two, Brian. The last time I checked, autopsies aren't performed by staring at the drawer and willing the corpse to dissect itself."

 

Brian waves his arm, half-heartedly, motioning toward the hall. "I'm fine, I'll see you in the morning."

 

"Let me take you home," Jimmy says. Brian feels the blood rising to his face. He says nothing, just glances over. "God, not like that. If you sleep over here you'll be an insufferable bastard in the morning and no one wants to deal with that. Come on." His hand is on Brian's arm, and he's being tugged out of the room. They stop by the office, and Brian grabs his briefcase, glancing at Herman, who's still wearing a green top hat from St. Patrick's Day two weeks ago.

 

They get into Jimmy's car, and pull out of the deathly quiet parking lot. Brian sees the last bus of the night whiz past them as they pull out onto the street. The radio's been set to classic rock, a low buzz of a  _The Who_  marathon, and Jimmy's new car has heated seats. Brian felt so awake at the office, but now his eyes slide shut, suddenly overwhelmed by drowsiness. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, feeling bad for being a shitty passenger. He should be keeping Jimmy awake to drive.

 

"Don't worry about it," Jimmy says. "I'll let you know when we get there." Brian faintly remembers that Jimmy's house is ten minutes in the opposite direction of the office. He'd apologize about that too, but he's too tired to try again.

 

He can't manage to fall asleep fully, and so he concentrates on the sound of Jimmy softly humming along to the music. Jimmy's voice tinkles with melody, it's soft and higher than usual for a guy, and Brian enjoys how it slips and slides into and around him, wrapping him up like a warm blanket. Brian's not usually privy to the musical side of his coworker, and he knows that outright asking him to sing would come off rude and really, really weird. But that means he appreciates it more when it happens.

 

" _Love, rein' o'er me_ ," Jimmy sings softly. The warm yellow glow of the streetlights peeks under the cracks in Brian's eyelids. He's rarely driven around by other people anymore, and he thinks back to when he was younger, when another voice would softly sing along to the radio as he dozed in the passenger seat. He feels unfathomably comfortable.

 

That must be why, when Jimmy says, "we're here," Brian says, "come inside." Jimmy's surprise is evident, and Brian tries to recover. "You could stay on my couch, get up in the morning and go home to freshen up. Kind of dumb for you to drive all the way back now."

 

Brian's never invited anyone over since he's lived in DC. Beverly has a gorgeous three bedroom with leather furniture and a built-in bar in the living room. Jimmy's house is small, but well worn and welcoming. Brian lives in a two bedroom he can't manage to fill up with anything except stacks of comic storage boxes and dusty 80s action figures. When he opens the front door, he scrambles over to the couch, shoving the clean laundry he hasn't gotten around to folding into the laundry basket on the floor and kicking it under the coffee table.

 

"You don't have to clean up," Jimmy says, setting his satchel down on one of the bar stools in the kitchen and stepping into the living room. Brian feels like he's getting his yearly work evaluation as Jimmy looks around the space. "This is nice, why don't you ever have us over?"

 

Brian shrugs. "Kinda small," he says. "And I'm a slob."

 

Jimmy laughs. "I've seen slobs. You're just a bachelor."

 

"Your house is alway nice," Brian points out, fluffing one of the couch pillows lamely.

 

"Fifty year old bachelors are very sad people, I try not to put myself in that category."

 

"I'm thirty-five, I'm not that far behind you."

 

"Fifteen years is a wider gap than you'd think."

 

"I don't think it's that wide at all," Brian says. He thinks they're not talking about tidy houses anymore. He doesn't know what it means that they're talking about something else.

 

"Where's your bathroom?" Jimmy asks. Brian points him down the hallway, then goes to the linen closet and gets out some clean sheets. He's trying to tug the fold-out couch flat when Jimmy comes back out. "Don't bother," he says. "I'm fine on the couch." Brian nods and tucks the sheets around the couch cushions as best he can. He finds two spare pillows, and turns up the thermostat since his spare comforter is in storage.

 

"Glasses are in the top right cabinet if you get thirsty," Brian says when he's done. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge, food, drink, whatever."

 

"Thanks." Jimmy nods and shucks off his shoes. "I'll probably be up and out of here before you're even up."

 

Brian nods, shuffling for the hallway. Jimmy starts to hum gently as he goes.

 

Brian stops, back turned. There's a moment here, and he can feel it coalesce in the sound of Jimmy's voice.  _Maybe I should just go to bed_ , he thinks.

 

"My sister," he says, still facing away from Jimmy. He glances back as Jimmy looks up, halfway through undoing his tie.

 

Jimmy's silent for a moment. His hands are still gripping the tie, and Brian stares at the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down. "Brian?" he says eventually, unsureness evident in his voice.

 

"That's why I was still there," Brian says, watching Jimmy's hands drop to his sides. "She looked like her."

 

"Do you want to talk-"

 

"No, no," Brian says, shaking his head quickly. "I just didn't want you to think- I don't even know what I didn't want you to think." He smiles and laughs at himself, an unsteady noise echoing out of his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm being- I'll see you in the morning."

 

He stops when Jimmy's hand lands on his shoulder. His throat goes dry. He's almost afraid to look at the other man.

 

"Brian? Why are you shaking?"

 

Brian doesn't understand what spell is broken, why he can finally do it, but he turns and slides his arms around Jimmy's waist and tugs them together, his mouth meeting the other man's over the last bit of distance, both physical and mental, keeping them apart. His mind is screaming about ruining their friendship, about how there are so many coworker violations inherent in this, and the smart thing would be to stop, but he doesn't care right now. Jimmy is here and Brian's wanted this for so long now, he just needs to show this person who always shows him so much care and kindness how much he values it and desires it and needs it.

 

Jimmy's still for a moment, but then his hands come up and tangle themselves into Brian's hair, stroking softly, and his mouth presses back firmly in response. He let's Brian take the lead, so Brian steps backwards, taking Jimmy with him, twisting them around until they've switched places. He presses Jimmy up against the wall. Their mouths haven't separated once, and Jimmy's hands have traveled their way down Brian's shoulders, fingertips pressing into the small of his back, tugging him even closer.

 

Brian feels a rousing warmth crawling its way up through his sleepy chest, and he tucks a knee between Jimmy's legs, enjoying the sharp gasp it brings forth. He presses deeper, twisting his tongue between Jimmy's lips and tasting his mouth, cataloging the new flavor for a later reminder. His arms are still wrapped around Jimmy's waist, and he dips his hands into the waistband, feeling warm living flesh against his cold fingertips.

 

They finally break off for air, and Jimmy's looking starry eyed and pleased. "Was wondering when you'd nut up and try that," he says, sliding a hand back up into Brian's hair and playing with the curls. "I was starting to get impatient."

 

"You could've made the first move."

 

Jimmy shakes his head. "Brian, honey, every second we're together was a move on my part. I just tend to not be pushy. Although I thought the two hundred dollar comic books were a pretty good hint."

 

Brian grins and laughs, dropping his forehead to Jimmy's shoulder. "I knew you weren't that ignorant about comic book prices," he says. "I guess I'm just an idiot." He remembers what time it is. "You don't have to sleep on the couch," he says. "I have a queen bed."

 

"I was going to be so pissed if you invited me up and I had to sleep on the fucking couch," Jimmy cackles. "You were going to find yourself being molested in the janitor's closet by the end of the week if you hadn't said something."

 

"I'm still open to that," Brian says. "Let's put a pin in that."

 

 

~

 

 

When Friday comes around, Brian invites Jimmy over to his apartment, for real this time. They eat pizza and watch Pulp Fiction, and then Jimmy takes him apart bit by bit on top of his queen bed until he's a shivering mass of orgasmic bliss. An hour after that they go for round two.

 

Later, Brian comes to with his head on Jimmy's shoulder, cocooned in a pile of blankets, sweat and other fluids cooling on the back of his thighs. "I haven't done that since college," Brian murmurs.

 

"Such a cliche," Jimmy says, playing with his curls. "Gay sex is like a bicycle, your ass is sore when you're finished riding."

 

Brian snorts and slides up. "Don't mention that to Bev, she'll kill you." He rests his arms under his head and looks out the window into the night sky. "You think people find our careers weird?"

 

Jimmy shakes his head. "I think people who don't confront death on a regular basis are unhinged. I don't need therapy, I have this." He sits up, resting on his elbows. "Why, planning on getting a new job?"

 

"Not old enough for my mid-life crisis just yet," Brian says.

 

"And I'm well past the age for it," Jimmy replies. He drums his fingers on the bedspread. "It doesn't bother you, then? The age difference?"

 

Brian rolls his eyes. "Would I be here if it did?"

 

"In this apartment right now? Probably, yes."

 

Brian swats playfully at Jimmy's shoulder. "You know what I mean." Jimmy's eyebrow is still raised though, like he's looking for an answer. Brian leans over, pressing a kiss to Jimmy's chest. "I find you unbelievably hot, if you were worried."

 

Jimmy ducks his head to meet Brian's lips. "I wasn't," he mutters, "but it's still nice to hear." Then he's sliding himself on top of Brian, and they go for round three.

 

They spend the weekend in bed, and on Monday morning Brian comes into work with a visible skip in his step and an ever widening smile on his face.

 

"What are you so happy about?" Beverly asks when he walks into the office.

 

"Oh, nothing, just had a good weekend."

 

"Well, Jack wants us in his office ASAP, apparently we're getting a new consultant, one of Jack's friends, Bill or Will or some name like that, and he's coming in to meet us this morning."

 

"You go on ahead." Brian nods at her. "I'll be there in a minute."

 

He shuffles some papers around on his desk. He could probably head down to Jack's office now... but he kind of wants to greet Jimmy without anyone else around.

 

Jimmy left his place last night around seven, and they never talked about what this whole... thing... was going to work.  _If we have to fill out a bunch of HR paperwork I will scream_. He isn't even sure if he should mention it to Beverly yet.

 

_What do we even call what we have_? he thinks.  _Are we boyfriends? Partners? Friends with benefits?_ Jimmy already calls him 'honey' and 'dear,' so that will probably continue.  _Am I just in this for the sex?_

 

He thinks about that one hard for a minute. It makes him feel queasy.  _No, I don't think I can do just sex. I'm not really built for that._

 

He hears footsteps and straightens up, turning around to face whomever is coming in. "Hey," Jimmy says, smiling as he enters, looking as calm and collected as ever. "Bev said we need to go to Jack's office." He drops his bag on his chair and flips open the screen of his laptop. His face is smooth and his expression neutral; there's no indication that anything has changed between them. "We should get going." He waves through the glass windows at Beverly, who's motioning to them from down the hall.

 

Brian follows Jimmy, feeling somewhat disappointed.  _I thought he'd say something_.  _Or react at all._

 

They meet Will Graham. It's a short conference; Will isn't much of a talker and he keeps looking at anything but the three of them. Brian notes the signs of some sort of Spectrum disorder. Jack explains that Will is going to be consulting on some of their cases from now on.  _New meat,_ Brian thinks.

 

When they leave the conference room, Brian makes a quick trip to the bathroom. He's washing his face in the sink when he hears someone else enter and lock the door behind them. He glances over. Jimmy is leaning against the door, a devilish smile on his face. "I've finally trapped you in a room without glass walls," he says, slinking over and pushing Brian up against one of the bathroom stalls, kissing him deeply.

 

"I was wondering why you were so cold this morning," Brian says, grinning as Jimmy pulls back. "We're going to have to map out any place on this floor that isn't visible to everyone else."

 

"I've already picked out three spots," Jimmy says. "We're in one of them right now."

 

"You haven't told Bev yet, right?"

 

"Not yet, I wanted to make sure you were okay with it."

 

"If only this bathroom was unisex," Brian quips. "We could wait for her to need to use it and then let her catch us kissing like this."

 

"It's going to end up happening eventually," Jimmy says. "I don't think I can keep my hands off of you through the whole work day."

 

"Do you want to come over tonight?" Brian asks. "I can cook something."

 

"Yeah, that sounds great. I'll bring some wine."

 

"Ok, and, um, we are telling Bev, right?"

 

"Why wouldn't we?" Jimmy asks, frowning.

 

"I mean, if you-" Brian stammers. He needs to get this out. "-if you didn't think our relationship has changed enough to warrant it..."

 

"Are you asking if we're going steady?" Jimmy asks. "Oh gosh, that's adorable. It feels like 1953 right now, I need to get out my poodle skirt."

 

"I'm being serious," Brian grumbles. "I didn't want to assume-"

 

Jimmy cuts him off with a kiss. "I don't have casual sex anymore," he mutters against Brian's mouth. Brian's sure there's a lifetime's worth of stories behind that statement. "If  _you_  want to, we can talk about it, but as far as I'm concerned, nobody else can have me but you."

 

Brian smiles against Jimmy's mouth, a giddy warmth swirling in the hollow of his chest. He wraps both of his arms around Jimmy in a tight hug, burying his face in Jimmy's shoulder. He's never even dreamed that it was possible to feel this happy. "I don't want anybody but you," he murmurs.

 

"Good," Jimmy says, kissing his forehead gently. "I was going to be really pissed if you said otherwise."

 

They stand there for another minute, holding each other. Brian doesn't want to leave this spot, but they are on the clock, and eventually they pull apart. "It will look really weird if we leave at the same time," Brian says.

 

"You go, I'll wait a minute," Jimmy says, pecking him on the cheek. "I'll be at your place at seven with wine."

 

Brian practically skips out of the room. He doesn't care if anyone gives him a funny look for it. He's happier than he's ever been, and the future looks wide and promising.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to 'houseofhannibal' for beta'ing this fic!
> 
> I can't remember how Will met Team Sassy Science, so apologies if I've broken the canon slightly.
> 
> I haven't published fanfic in about 4 years, and I wrote this in a week. This pairing brought me out of my writer's block <3
> 
> Find me on tumblr at http://nighthawkms.tumblr.com/


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